


Unsaid

by orphan_account



Category: Watchmen
Genre: M/M, Pre-Roche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dark_fest fic. Prompt: one person is an abuse/rape survivor and has a panic attack/flashback when trying to bottom with his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to quietprofanity@LJ for the beta.

They don't really talk to each other. Perhaps they should, but they don't.

They communicate via body language; they've worked together for six years, and they've both become adept at deciphering countless small gestures. It's their fluency in nonverbal intimation that allows them to know what is permitted, and what is not.

So, Daniel always has express permission when he kneels between Rorschach's thighs, deferential and happy and ever busy with his mouth.

Rorschach sits perched on the edge of the bed in the guest room, half-dressed, legs spread slightly. He's gripped by lust and disgust, and the two emotions seem to feed off each other.

Neither of them are really sure how they ended up at this point. This isn't the first time that Daniel's hands and mouth have sought out the warm places underneath Rorschach's uniform. It must have started, years ago, with adrenaline and the sight of blood, and the basic need to relieve stress. Over time, the two of them have grown bolder.

And Daniel is attractive, although Rorschach would never admit that out loud. Daniel has an honest face, handsome but benign without being effeminate, and an engineer's stained, rough hands; there's something reassuringly solid about Daniel. He seems stable. And normal.

As Daniel sucks Rorschach's cock, it feels good, despite everything. ('Sucking cock'. It doesn't sound like something that should ever be a good thing: the infantile sibilance of _sucking_, the hard consonants of _cock_.) Rorschach can even overlook the fact that the intimacy is wholly conditional; Daniel is doing this for Rorschach, not for Kovacs, even though Kovacs is the one who needs it, and Rorschach doesn't. It seems deeply sacrilegious for Kovacs to be using Rorschach in this way, but the indecency only encourages him.

Rorschach has devoted a lot of time and energy to being respectable. Respectability is something that he's had to fight for.

Daniel shows him that he doesn't have to fight all the time.

Rorschach doesn't know if that's good or bad.

Either way, he's a little grateful.

Perhaps it's this gratitude that makes him put a hand on Daniel's shoulder, and carefully push the other man away for a moment.

Daniel looks up, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, and says, "You alright?"

Rorschach nods.

Daniel kisses the inside of Rorschach's thigh. In the past, Daniel has told him that he has great thighs; Rorschach still doesn't know how to feel about that.

"I've, um, got some Vaseline in the nightstand," Daniel murmurs, with a curious mix of guilt and enthusiasm.

Rorschach is initially perplexed by the statement. Daniel looks at him hopefully. Rorschach considers the possible uses for Vaseline, its consistency, its properties, then thinks, _oh_. He slowly nods again and sits back, pushing his pants down to his ankles so that he can spread his legs further... Which probably answers some of Daniel's unasked questions.

Rorschach can imagine how he must look. _Disgusting. Yes._ There's an awful needy monster inside Rorschach (well, Kovacs) and there's no point in indulging it because it'll never be satisfied, but he's going to indulge it anyway.

Daniel stares, and just looks surprised. It causes Rorschach to wonder what his _own_ expression is like, and he's glad that his face - Kovacs's face - is currently half-hidden. The mask has been rolled up to the bridge of his nose, so he can breathe more easily. Even that feels like too much, but it's not so bad as long as his eyes remain concealed.

Daniel quickly turns away to dig through a nightstand drawer until he finds a particular jar; he soon returns with a handful of the lubricant. He leans over and reaches between Rorschach's legs, but Rorschach grabs his wrist and stops him. Daniel doesn't say anything, but instead slathers the stuff on himself, while breathing out slowly.

When Daniel looks up again, he gives Rorschach an uneasy smile. The smile doesn't help things. Rorschach turns his back on Daniel and changes position so he's on his hands and knees - that way, he doesn't have to see Daniel's face.

The act of presenting his ass to the other man makes him feel... odd. There's something satisfying about it, despite (or because of) the way that it confirms a few things about Kovacs that Rorschach doesn't particularly like. He hates the way that his cock leaks onto the bedsheets. He knows that he probably won't last very long.

Being on his hands and knees makes him feel more exposed than he felt when he was leaning back with his legs spread. He's acutely aware of Daniel standing behind him, as if he can already feel the weight and bulk of Daniel's body. Daniel's left hand rests on his hip.

Daniel presses against him, sticky and warm, and Rorschach tries to relax.

"Okay?" Daniel asks.

"Get on with it," Rorschach says. Daniel is too slow, and it's giving Rorschach the chance to over-think things.

Daniel pushes into him. It's uncomfortable, and the greasy texture of the Vaseline feels interestingly vile. Daniel is probably too meek to offer any reassurance. (Not that Rorschach needs reassuring, of course.)

Rorschach props himself on his elbows, and tries to adjust to the alien sensation. He was expecting it to hurt much more, which raises the question: why would he want to do this if he thought there would be pain involved? That's another thing he can't really explain. He assumes that he's just damaged. A vague anxiety loiters at the boundary of his awareness, although it's too ugly for him to look at directly. He wants Daniel to make him stop thinking.

He impatiently pushes back against Daniel, which _does_ hurt. Daniel draws a sharp breath, but gets the hint and begins to thrust, very carefully.

There's the ridiculous sound of skin against skin. Rorschach's body gradually becomes more accommodating. He almost reaches between his legs, but something makes him hesitate. He still isn't sure if he likes it. Discomfort and lust are so intertwined for him that he can't always tell them apart, and he has never paid much thought to what he really wants, because he's never expected to get it.

He focuses on the weave of the bedsheet's fibers, and tries to switch off his brain. The bedsheet smells of laundry powder, and the smell is almost as strong as the stink of sweat from their earlier patrol. Daniel's thrusts rock him slightly - it's oddly hypnotic. It does feel good, but... That's all. Just 'good'. (And 'good' is not always the same as 'pleasant'.) He realizes that he's actually very tired. He waits for the excess of physical sensation to blank out his mind, but something seems to be stopping it.

Perhaps Daniel perceives Rorschach's unease, because he rubs Rorschach's back to get him to relax - his hand briefly pauses between his shoulders, then moves upwards, stroking the back of his neck.

Rorschach blinks twice, and the fibers of the bedsheet come into sharp focus. He's very aware of his own breathing, as if drawing breath requires conscious effort. Even after Daniel's hand has moved on, he can still feel its weight against his spine.

Rorschach lifts his head slightly, and he catches the way that Daniel's shadow falls over him. The room suddenly seems airless.

Perhaps Daniel fails to notice the way that Rorschach's body tenses, because he doesn't stop.

"Stop," says Rorschach. He feels as if the world is slipping sideways, and it takes a lot of self-control for him to speak. It makes no sense.

Daniel pauses. "What's wrong?" he says - it seems like such a stupid thing to ask.

Rorschach is entirely sure what his body is doing, but he's already recoiling from Daniel and clumsily pulling up his pants.

He moves around to the other side of the bed so that he can face the other man, keeping the bed between them - the room's only doorway is just behind Daniel's left shoulder.

He doesn't know if the situation is better or worse for the fact that he has the mask on. His body is trembling - although he's not sure if Daniel can tell - and it's a different kind of indignity, one that he takes no satisfaction from. His breathing sounds too loud and his heart has tightened like a fist. The most infuriating thing is that he doesn't even know _why_ he's reacting this way.

"Rorschach?" Daniel says, genuinely concerned, and a deceptively reasonable voice in Rorschach's mind says, _you're scaring him_, although Rorschach doesn't particularly care about that.

Part of Rorschach wants to offer an explanation, _to fix things_, while another part of him is saying that he owes Daniel nothing. He stands as still as he can, trying to salvage some composure, although his chest hurts as if he's been winded.

Daniel looks confused and oddly wounded. "I'm so sorry, shit... I thought that if I was hurting you, you would've said something."

Rorschach has nothing to say.

"I don't know what I did, but... God, sorry. It's not _meant_ to hurt," says Daniel. He moves around the bed; his hands are raised as if poised to catch a frightened animal, which makes Rorschach feel a twinge of disgust for the both of them.

There is one single, clear thought in Rorschach's mind, and that is: _if he touches me, I'm going to hit him_. His body is already tensed to throw the punch.

Fortunately, Daniel pauses when he's a few feet away. His body language betrays the fact that he's intimidated. "Fuck. I should have known that something was off. I _thought_ you were too quiet," he says, and grabs a nearby dressing gown so that he's no longer naked and quite so ridiculous-looking. "God, Rorschach, what just happened?"

The question can't be answered. Daniel gives Rorschach a pleading look, probably wanting some clue as to what he should do, but Rorschach can't help.

Rorschach pulls the mask back down over his face and looks away, focusing on fastening his clothes, although he still watches Daniel out the corner of his eye.

Daniel just stares back, full of uncertainty and useless, self-absorbed guilt. "At least tell me what I did wrong," he says.

Rorschach vividly pictures himself breaking Daniel's arm. (It wouldn't be difficult. Daniel's guard is down.) The image is so intrusive and unwanted that it almost has a hallucinatory quality. He feels a cold, leaden antipathy towards the other man; he can only hope that Daniel will attribute his erratic actions to a sudden attack of conscience, rather than mental imbalance... Although it seems to be too late for that, because Daniel's expression already betrays an emotion that Rorschach interprets as pity.

Eventually, Daniel just decides to sit down on the edge of the bed, probably hoping Rorschach will join him.

Rorschach has to pass him as he heads to the door.

Behind him, he hears Daniel say, "Rorschach... Look, I'm sorry. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

Rorschach doesn't look back, even though it isn't Daniel who he really blames.


End file.
